Page:Poems by Cushag.djvu/66

64 RIP me savadge, Miss Geargie,
 * An' heis me up in bed,

An' you can be radin' them texes
 * The while I reddy me head.

Can ye see me hanksher, Miss Geargie?
 * In the bed it's like it's los'.

Aw well! the couth of the winter!
 * Me legs is like sticks of fros'.

An' the rots is scraerpin', scraerpin'!
 * Aw, it's time poor Kate was took—

No, no, I'll not have no firin'
 * For I cannot suffer the smook.

An' well—Are ye theer, Miss Geargie?
 * I was dhramin' a dhrame in the night,

When the win's took rest from their noisin'
 * An' the say was middlin' quite.

An' the Lord Himself come down
 * An' stud beside the bed,

An' with thremblin' fear I heard Him speak:
 * "Come urrov theer," He said.